


Forgiven

by magicrealism



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicrealism/pseuds/magicrealism
Summary: Following a traumatic experience, Lesly finds herself mysteriously contacted through email by a dark informant who promises to help her. Years later she meets a prosecutor whose mannerism reminds her of that informant. They both seem to know a lot about her, and more importantly, they both know about the incident that happened five years ago. Could the two be one and the same?Lesly Collins is a lawyer struggling to hide a very traumatic past behind a veneer of seriousness. Her no-nonsense attitude combined with her temper, inflexibility and sarcasm had turned her into something of a villain. One day she is approached with a proposition for a joint effort by none other than the prosecutor Alec Reid. To the common majority, Alec is the typical gentleman. He is kind, well-mannered and possibly one of the select few who are still in possession of a moral compass. What most people do not know, however, is that Alec is not who he claims to be.
Relationships: Lesly Collins/Alec Reid





	1. Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> The first four chapters cover the exposition, that is the setting and the main character's past. The story develops from there. You'll love it. I promise. You just need to give it time.

Chapter 1:  
It was an all too familiar experience, sitting there with nothing but the sound of deafening silence. How many times has it been now? Eight? Nine? Maybe less? Was it sensible to keep count? No, she promised herself she would not entertain such thoughts. She reminded herself that she was here to get better. Yes, that is precisely what Michaela told her. She needed to get better, but was that even possible? Is it possible for someone who had been through what she had gone through to get better? Michaela said she should not give up, that she had made some excellent progress, but her mind knew that Michaela had no idea that it was all an act, a false persona. People need to put an act sometimes to get by. Life demands it. Certain professions would not allow its occupants to survive without it. Her situation was not different.  
“Miss. Collins, are you okay? You haven’t said anything for a while now.”  
Her eyes darted towards the blond middle-aged woman sitting right across from her. Mary Grove was her name, was it? Michaela told her she was the best therapist in the city. Her friend did say the same thing about other therapists before her, yet not a single one of them had been able to help her. Maybe she was a hopeless case. Maybe she should just accept the fact that she would never overcome the experience and just give in. It would be nice, leaving this world with all its troubles. The ironic thing was that her traumatic experience had left her brain so fragmented and incapable of aligning its contradictory demands that she would no longer know if death was really what it wanted. She would find herself at one point at the pit of a spiral of depression so intense that she would wish she was dead. Her sadistic mind would even go on to devise one method after another in search of the best way to go. A few moments later it would recoil in terror. Her heartbeat would race, her whole body would start to convulse and her chest would struggle to fill her lungs with air. The episode would go on and off for hours until it totally annihilated her grip on reality and sent her crawling into a corner to wait for her impending doom.  
“Lesly are you okay?”  
No, she was not okay. No one in this god-forsaken city was okay. What made this woman believe anyone was okay? Isn’t that what they say any way? That every single individual suffers from an issue of sorts?  
“Do you need me to get you anything?” Mary asked with a concerned look on her face.  
“I’m fine,” Lesly finally decided to answer.  
Mary nodded her head, acknowledging the response she was given. She started scribbling on her notebook before she finally decided to address her newest patient, “Shall we continue?”  
When Leslie smiled emptily in response to Mary’s question, Mary proceeded, her gaze cantered undividedly on Leslie, “Michaela told me about your situation, but I would like to hear your story.”  
Oh yes, the story, that god-awful story. She must have told that story like a hundred times. Although she would like nothing more than to forget it, her brain would make sure to remind her every once in a while. True to its sadistic streak, her brain would not only reminisce on the moments when she was most helpless and scared but would also make her relive every excruciating detail of that experience every chance it gets. Nightmares were quite common and as awful as they were, they were still preferable to the far more harrowing and intrusive flashbacks. Yes, sharing the story should be a breeze. Why would she object to telling it?  
“You already know it. Why go through it again?” Lesly answered dryly.  
“That’s fine. We won’t discuss it then,” Mary responded with a smile. It seemed that she had had her fair share of difficult patients before Lesly showed up.  
“How’s work Lesly?”  
Was Mary trying to approach the problem from a different direction now? Lesly had encountered that strategy a lot, especially when she was reticent. It was obvious what Mary was trying to do.  
“You are familiar with my line of work,” Lesly answered calmly.  
“Michaela told me you are a brilliant lawyer.”  
Brilliant indeed. She could barely afford these sessions. Ever since the death of her younger brother seven years ago, she had been suffering this overwhelming guilt that robbed her of sleep. That guilt would only be eased a little when she distracted herself with work. However, it was not long before she lost the sense of comfort that work gave her. Every case she took made her feel miserable, not only because some clients proved to be the absolute worst human beings on earth, but also because she was the reason the people who really needed help found themselves financially crippled soon afterwards. Eventually, she began taking more cases pro bono. She convinced herself that she was balancing some of the bad with a little good, but sadly that was not the case. People do charity work for different reasons. There are those who help out of the goodness of their heart, and there are those who help for purely selfish reasons, to fix their public image, deceive people into thinking they are somebody that they are not, or even use their charity organization as a front for illegal activities. She could easily fall into the second category. Helping was one way she could convince herself that she was not a bad person, and because she knew that was a lie, she found herself charging her clients little to none over and over in an effort to mask that reality. It was not long before her savings dried up and she found herself downgrading everything in her life to make ends meet. That did not bother her much. As long as she was handling that overwhelming sense of guilt, she was fine. Soon afterwards, she joined Sonata, a charity organization concerned with helping the victims of human trafficking and putting an end to their suffering. Unfortunately, every case she took through Sonata following the incident was nothing more than a blatant reminder of what she had gone through.  
“Lesly?”  
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about a case I encountered at work today,” Lesly finally decided to answer, realizing that the long time she took to respond was also a sign this Mary person could use to figure her out.  
“Care to share it with me?” Mary asked patiently, hoping to get Lesly to finally open up.  
Lesly sighed, wondering whether it was worth it to say anything at all or not. She eventually decided to randomly choose a case and to present it to Mary as a way to fill the silence.  
“There is this woman, early twenties, who came to the city of Redlyn in hopes of finding a job that would support her and her five-year old son. She trusted the wrong people and ended up in a prostitution job that she could not leave for fear that her son might get hurt. We managed to save her, but we can’t find her son.”  
“That is awful.”  
“Yes, that is what people normally say, and yet no body is doing anything about the problem.”  
“Lesly, what makes you think the problem is getting worse?” Mary asked after a moment of silence.  
“What makes you think it’s getting better?”  
“Wouldn’t you consider the changes the newly elected mayor promised to make a step in the right direction?” Mary clarified.  
Leslie could not help but laugh at this point, “Politicians!”  
Unable to keep her real thoughts to herself any longer, she continued, “The slave-trade has grown prosperous due to the city’s stagnant environment, yet despite the growing numbers we announce, politicians still insist that we exaggerate. Why do you think that?”  
“You tell me.”  
“Because they are entangled in that mess. The persistence of the problem helps them. They get paid a handsome some by the syndicates running the show to stay quiet. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of the city’s major political figures are involved in the lucrative sex-trade that such an activity gave rise to.”  
Silence again. The crime rate in the city of Redlyn was high. That was an undisputed fact. The factors behind the increase in crime rate, however, were a source of a major controversy. As with any community, there are those who believed that hijacking people’s freedom through stricter laws was the answer. There are the conspiracy theorists who would either trace the problem to some foreign powers or locate it in the existing government. And then there are the religious fanatics who would simply interpret every occurrence as God’s punishment to the sinful.  
“That is…an interesting analysis, Lesly,” Mary replied hesitantly after a moment of silence.  
Great! She must have already been categorized as another conspiracy theorist. Lesly did not normally care what other people thought of her, but she did not want Mary to needlessly prolong those sessions. One session every two weeks was torture enough.  
She leaned forward in her seat and tried her best to control her simmering temper as she reasoned, “Dr. Grove, how would you explain the rising crime wave? The inadequacy of the law enforcement system? The corruption of the judicial system? And the fact that parts of the city are totally controlled by syndicates and criminal organizations rather than a functional government body?”  
Mary would not answer the questions. She just sat there waiting for Leslie to voice the one experience that was the source of this seething, yet somewhat controlled anger.  
Realizing that she had revealed more than what she wished her therapist to find out, she stood up, turned her back to the middle-aged woman and began walking towards the window. Lesly took a couple of deep breaths and tried to think of way to handle what remained of the one-hour session. She wanted to leave that instant, but Michaela was waiting outside. Leaving would mean subjecting herself to the hellish nagging, crying and pleading that resulted in the guilt-ride that brought here in the first place. No, leaving was not an option, and apparently beating around the bush and answering questions with questions was not working either, especially since she was exhausted and sleep-deprived. What else was there to do?  
Her eyes scanned the small garden through the window. The sound of children playing and laughing immediately caught her attention and had her search their surroundings for the source of their amusement. She soon found out that it was a small golden retriever running around the kids in circles and chasing after a toy they were holding. Something about the scene evoked a surge of emotions within her. She could not understand at first why the scene affected her so much, but she soon managed to put a name to the phenomenon…nostalgia…but that was not all there was to it. Something else was making her eyes burn. They were tearing up. The more she fought that, the harder her eyes pulsed. She tried to keep herself composed, but so many things were out of order right now that she could not keep track of everything. Something was bound to slip out.  
Almost involuntarily, she found herself whispering, “Things would have been easier if he was around.”  
“Who Lesly?”  
“Christopher.”  
“Your brother?”  
“Yes.”  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
What was there to talk about? The guy lived his whole life treating her like nothing but the family he always wanted, but she never returned the sentiment. She hated him at first because he was her father’s love child. Christopher was twelve when she first met him. He was four years younger than her. His mother had passed away when he was two and he spent the next ten years in the care of his maternal grandmother. Her father kept his existence a secret from her up until he could no longer do so. Christopher’s grandmother passed away and her father had no choice but to bring him over. What made it easier for her father to do so was the fact that her mother was no longer around, too. Her father only had one person’s feelings to worry about and those were hers. She spent the next year fully ignoring Christopher’s existence for her sanity’s sake up until the moment she went to college.  
Lesly finally got to acknowledge Christopher as a brother when her father passed away. She had just graduated from college and she was trying to put herself through law school. The sight of Christopher weeping at her father’s funeral tore at her heart strings. She realized that Christopher had just lost the only family he knew. Their relationship grew from that point onward, but it was not long before it hit another hurdle along the way. She did not know whether it was the lack of guidance or the fact that he had been spoiled by everybody who cared for him throughout his life, but Christopher had grown up to be the most irresponsible person she had ever encountered. He could not keep himself in college and would not even bother looking for a job. His reason, of course, was that he did not need the money after he was finally granted access to the trust fund left to him by his maternal grandparent. Every encounter the two had followed the same routine course. She would criticize his irresponsible behaviour. He would call her a stuck-up a bitch, and then the two of them would keep their distance until he sought her out again. It was always him who initiated the contact, never her. He was the one who would call to check on her. He was the one who would arrange dinner appointments to meet her. He was the one who constantly called her office to plan things around her schedule. It was obvious that he loved her a great deal. She loved him, too, but for some reason, she was never capable of showing it, and now he was dead and his blood was on her hands alone.  
Why didn’t she keep her mouth shut? If she had tried to reason with him rather than criticize and point his flaws every time she saw him, he would not have stormed out of her flat in anger and got himself killed in a car accident. Why did she do that? Why was she so harsh with him? She was an attorney and a damn excellent one. She should have been able to use her words in a more effective manner than that. Did she still resent him for being her father’s love child? Was that the real reason? Did she secretly want him dead? Did she even love him or was she lying to herself the entire time to make herself feel better? Maybe she deserved what happened to her, getting incarcerated, tortured, and raped. She should have died that day. She should not have been rescued.  
“Lesly, what are you thinking?”  
“Nothing,” Lesly answered in a small voice.  
At this point, Mary could not help but sigh in frustration at her patient’s lack of cooperation. She placed the cap over her pen, put her notebook aside, took a deep breath, and tried to reason one more time, “Dear, I’m trying to help you. You are obviously suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. What you have been though is horrendous in every sense of the word. You have to open up.”  
Still not convinced, Lesly asked, “What’s the point? It won’t erase the fact that it happened. It won’t erase the fact that I deserved it.”  
“Why would you say that?”  
“Because I’m a horrible human being,” Lesly replied softly.  
“Lesly, it is common for sexual assault victims to blame themselves. The most important thing to remember is that…”  
“Did you not hear me? I deserved it,” Lesly interrupted, almost breaking down.  
Mary tried to hold back from saying anything that would further enrage Lesly. She took a deep breath, tried to rearrange her thoughts, and then proceeded one more time to convince her patient to speak, “Lesly, perhaps you can help me understand the situation better by telling me exactly what happened.”  
Lesly tried to calm herself down. She closed her eyes to keep the tears that were threatening to fall from falling, and counted to ten. She could handle this. She could power through if she wanted. She had done it before, and she could do it again.  
She slowly walked back to her seat, sat down, then spoke softly, “I helped someone.”  
“And?” Mary asked encouragingly.  
“I paid dearly for it.”


	2. The Dark Corridors of Memory

Chapter 2  
She could still remember the scene vividly. The burning building, the screaming, the sirens, the hoards scattering out of the building like ants. They were all warning signs blatantly telling her not to go in, but she went in anyways. She had to go in. Anyone in her place would have done so. Every human being with an ounce of humanity would have gone in. She did nothing wrong. That was what she kept telling herself for five years. She did nothing wrong. She imagined the scene so many times in her head, and every time, she would not be able to think of a reason that would have kept her or anyone from going in. The anonymous tip told her that a group of people were trapped in the basement of a building for the purposes of sex slavery. She could not look the other way.  
So where was the problem exactly?  
She did not expect the building to be on fire. Was it an attempt by the people responsible to cover their tracks? Possibly but not likely. The fire started in one of the top floors’ apartments. If somebody wanted to erase all evidence of human trafficking activities, they would have saved themselves a great deal of trouble by setting the apartment where the victims were locked on fire. It was possibly an accident, a fortunate accident for some and an unfortunate one for others. But all in all, seeing the thick dark plumes of smoke rising out of the building sent her into a state of panic. She wanted to get to those victims and she wanted to get to them fast. She could not wait for her team to arrive. She had to go in.   
Should she have waited for the team?   
No, that was not it. She was armed. Self-defence was not an issue. She carried a gun. She was actually against guns, but the condition of the city and the rising crime rate kind of made carrying a gun a survival necessity for residents, specifically the women. She needed the team, yes, but it was possible for her to take care of herself until they have arrived.   
So when did the problem emerge exactly?  
That was a question that needed her to dig deeper into her memory. Walking through the empty corridors in search of the apartment in question was a nerve-wrecking experience. Every once in a while, she would hear the sound of running footsteps echoing from every direction. There were people still trying to evacuate the building before the fire swallowed them whole. She pressed forward despite every warning sign around her, the shattered glass under her feet, the shrill voices ordering people to leave that instant, the cries of children in the distance. Every person with a functioning survival instinct was running in the opposite direction. Why couldn’t she do the same?   
Every turn she took through the maze of the gigantic building presented her with an identical scene to the one before it. Her only clues that she was on the right track amidst all that confusion were the numbers on the doors. She was getting closer. There was no turning back. More footsteps echoed. This time they were echoing in her direction, edging closer and closer until she managed to see the individuals responsible for them. In her effort not to get trampled to death, she pulled out of their way and pressed her back against the wall until they have vacated the hallway. Her eyes watched them in dread as they ran past her, almost knocking her to the floor a couple of times in their state of panic. She did not know she was holding her breath until her lungs compelled her to exhale sharply. She carefully left the safety of the walls and stood in the middle of the hallway examining the direction the group ran through until they have disappeared out of her sight. Maybe she needed to backtrack then. Maybe it was not safe to go any further. Maybe those victims were not meant to be saved. Those were the thoughts that ran through her head back then. She wanted to obey them. She did, but the sight she witnessed next kept her from doing so.  
She took one last look in the direction she wanted to pursue. There was nothing but a dark hallway barely lit by whatever sunlight that managed to break through the building. There were no emergency lights, no sprinklers, fire extinguishers or any safety measure of any sort. She took a couple of steps back, and just as she was about to turn around, she heard what seemed like a cry for help. Upon examining the hallway one more time, she noticed a shadowed figure limping in the distance. It took her mind a moment to register the scene. That person was possibly an injured tenant in need of assistance. The moment her mind played the possibility, she ran towards the distressed individual without giving it much thought. He fell to the floor seconds before she got to him. His shoulders, neck and head were slightly supported by the hallway wall he was leaning against for support earlier.   
She approached him, hoping to help him stand on his own two feet so the two of them could leave the building.  
“Sir, we have to leave now. It’s not safe,” she said as she tried to reach for his arm, but the moment she lifted it, he released an agonized groan that made her hesitant to proceed any further.   
She was about to reason with him again when she felt something on her hands…blood. She held her hands in front of her, looked at them to confirm, and shook her head in denial. Her mind tried to dismiss that one possibility so it sent her fishing through her pockets for her phone. She turned on the flashlight and tried to examine him.   
He was in a horrendous state. His form was bloodied from head to toe. She did not know at first whether it was his blood or somebody else’s blood, but the stab wound she noticed next sooner confirmed that it was his. He seemed conscious. That much was confirmed by his feeble attempt at keeping himself from bleeding to death, but it did not seem that he possessed enough strength to apply pressure to the wound. It was at this moment that she realized that she needed to do that for him.   
“Oh God!”  
Lesly immediately untied the scarf from around her neck and used it to press on the wound while her free hand dialled the emergency phone number. Her voice shook when she was finally connected to the emergency personal. She asked for an ambulance, and just as she was about to hang up, she noticed his laboured attempt at trying to voice something. She leaned closer to him, hoping to be able to hear what he wanted to say.  
“Help me.”  
He did not say anything else. It did not seem that he was capable of speaking another word even if he wanted to. She examined his wound one more time, wondering if there was anything she could do to ease his suffering until the medics have arrived, but there was nothing to be done. It was not just the stab wound that was the problem. The man had other serious injuries that required immediate medical attention. His face was heavily bruised and cut. A giant gash covered his forehead and oozed blood all over the right side of his face. There were burn marks extending from his neck all the way to both arms and to his torso which was barely covered by the worn out t-shirt he was wearing. The blood and swelling on his left arm were caused by a fractured bone that was now sticking out of his arm, and to top it all his right shoulder appeared to have been dislocated.   
Given the severity of the injuries and the current state of emergency that was sending everyone into panic, it was doubtful that he would make it. The fact that she had to sit there and do nothing but apply pressure to his stab wound and monitor him in silence made her feel even more helpless. It was obvious that he was still conscious and in a lot of pain, but there was nothing else to be done. That thought did not sit well with her. There must be something she could do. Her hand started fumbling with the phone involuntarily. Her team, she needed to call her team again. They must have arrived by now. Maybe they can help move him out of the building at least.   
“Come on. Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”   
“Hello,” answered the voice on the other end of the line.   
“Charlie, please tell me you’re here.”  
“Just a couple of minutes, Collins.”  
“I’m inside the building.”  
“Have you lost your mind?! You went in alone?!”   
“I couldn’t wait,” she clarified. “Listen, there’s somebody here who needs help. He’s been stabbed. I already called for help, but I don’t think he can wait for long.”  
“We’re almost there, Collins.”  
Lesly was about to give further instructions to Charlie when she noticed the man wincing and groaning in pain. He was trying to move his right arm, so she immediately hung up and tried to calm the stranger down, “Shh Sir, you’re gonna be okay. Help is on the way.”  
He did not stop. He was trying to say something, but he could not speak. Then he managed to raise his index finger and point shakily into the direction he came from. She looked, not knowing what to expect exactly, but she did not see anything. She looked back at him again and noticed that his gaze was fixed on her. That look. She could recognize it now. It was fear, and not just fear, but pure terror.  
“They’re…after me.”  
It was at that moment that everything clicked, the stab wound, the dried traces of blood, the torn clothes, the rope marks around the man’s wrists, the circular pattern to the burn scars that could have only been left by cigarettes. That man was not injured in the process of evacuating the building. No, something else happened.  
Ominous footsteps echoed in the distance, a sound that will forever be engraved in her memory.   
“He’s here. I found him.”  
She looked at the direction of the strange sound, and noticed a shadowed figure motioning to somebody else she could not see to come. Soon afterwards, the shadowed figure turned towards her and began a steady march in her direction. The more he got closer, the more visible he became by her illuminated surroundings. He was a tall dark-haired man who seemed completely normal in every way, but the look of terror in the injured man’s eyes told her that she should be on her guard.   
He came closer wearing an expression of relief, and then started to talk to her, “Thank God you found him. I was getting worried. I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”  
“Do you know him?” she asked, not knowing quite well what to make of his statement.   
“Yes, he is a friend of mine. He was coming to see me. I live here. He must have been pushed down the stairs by somebody in panic. He called me and told me to come get him,” the dark-haired man explained.   
If there was one thing Lesly picked from her career as a lawyer, it was how to know that somebody was lying. She already concluded that the injured man was not almost trampled to death, so what was this person’s game exactly?   
She did not say anything at first. It was not wise to engage with him any further or insinuate that she was aware of the holes in his little story. The best thing she could do now was to wait for medics, but could she keep the inured stranger alive until then?   
“We should not move him. We could make his injuries worse,” she instructed calmly as she continued to apply pressure to his wound.   
“I can’t leave him like this!” The suspicious man shot back, almost succeeding at feigning concern.   
“Medics will be here soon. I already called for help,” she tried to reason.   
He went silent for a second as he stared at her with an expressionless face. Then he smiled as he ran his hands to the back of his head in a sign that she could only construe as frustration.   
“You called an ambulance? Great!” Then he started shouting, “Hey, she called an ambulance. Get your ass over here. We need to act quick.”  
Her mind tried desperately to rehearse every possible scenario that could unfold, but there was no time. Another shadowed figure was coming. Now there are two of them against her. Her gun. She needed to reach for her gun, but was that a wise move at the moment? They could be armed, too. It would be impossible for her given her current skill level to debilitate one before the other attacked her. What if she waited? What could happen then? They would most probably drag the poor man away or finish him off that instant. They may even shoot her, too. Was it better to fight then? Try her luck and see if she could live another day? She had to try. There was no other option, so she reached for the gun stealthily as the two men engaged in what appeared to be a heated discussion. She kept it at her side in preparation for any problem that may arise.   
The second man soon turned to her and stared at her long and hard. He seemed less calm and more excitable than the dark-haired one. His tone and the words that came out of his mouth next further proved that, “Step away!”  
“Excuse me?”  
“Step away! Leave this building before it burns to the ground. You did not see anything. You do not know anything,” the threatening stranger warned.   
“Make me,” Lesly retorted in defiance.   
Silence hung between the two parties as they both contemplated their next step. When the aggressive man stepped forward, Lesly immediately drew her gun and aimed it at the threatening pair. She summoned every ounce of well power to keep her hands from shaking. She needed to look strong and confident. If they find out that this was her first time using a gun, or that she was terrified on the inside, they could easily use that against her.   
She took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as possibly, “Now you listen to me. Leave or I’ll pull the trigger.”  
“You don’t know who that man is,” the calm dark-haired man tried to reason.   
“I don’t care,” she reasoned.   
Silence again. How much longer was it going to take before either the medics or her team arrived? It was obvious now that she was the only armed individual at the scene. If either of the two men had weapons, they would have used them by now. This should have given her a boost of confidence to handle the situation, but their standing there staring down at her was slowly shattering her grip on her act. She did not know how long she could keep on pretending to know what she was doing. Her hand…she must keep her hand from shaking.   
“I’ll give you five seconds to reconsider or you’re gonna have to find me a replacement,” the aggressive man warned again.   
When she did not respond, the aggressive man tried to speak again, but the sound of footsteps echoing through the hallways and the shouting that accompanied it kept him from doing so. Somebody was coming, her team possibly. Help was on the way, finally. They had to leave. The look on their faces told her that they did not feel safe to stay. The dark-haired man turned over towards his angry companion and tried to explain, “We have to go. We’ll deal with this later.”  
The other man would not budge, however. He stood there, his furious gaze locked with hers before he considered his companion’s pleas to leave. He finally relented, but not before he spoke the words that would forever echo in her mind.   
“I’ll make you wish you were dead.”


End file.
